Chapter 7
Lady
By nine o’clock, half of Miami thinks it knows who I am.
By ten, the other half is pretending it did all along.
That is the thing about gossip in this city. It doesn’t need truth. It needs good lighting, a little blood, and a woman pretty enough for strangers to feel entitled to her bruises.
I sit on Darling’s bathroom counter with one foot in the sink, a bag of frozen peas against my cheek, and my phone lighting up beside my thigh every three seconds.
Lady Nyx breaks silence after kidnapping.
Saints Outlaws road captain caught in baby scandal.
Clubhouse sweetheart. Lost child. Glitter girl replacement.
Glitter girl. I stare at that one until the words blur.
Then I laugh.
It sounds ugly enough that Darling stops digging through her makeup bag and looks at me in the mirror.
“What?”
“Glitter girl replacement,” I say. “Qué cute. They make me sound like a limited edition Barbie with trauma accessories.”
Darling’s mouth tightens. “Sounds like something Carmen would say. Don’t read it.”
“Very helpful. Should I also not breathe?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know everybody knows what they mean tonight.” I toss the peas into the sink. “Shady means he loved the baby but not Cherry. Cherry means she loved him but hated me enough to hand me to men with guns. Carmen means to hurt you and Diablo but keeps picking off women around you instead. The internet means I’m a shiny whore who got kidnapped because I borrowed somebody’s biker.”
Darling’s eyes go wet.
I point at her. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re about to breathe guilty again.”
She presses her lips together.
From the bedroom, Disco screams, “Pendejo!”
I lift both hands. “Exactly.”
Darling closes her eyes. “That bird is going to get us all killed.”
“That bird is my emotional support criminal.”
Disco screeches, “¡Pretty Lady! ¡No roses!”
My smile dies.
The bathroom goes quiet except for the buzz of my phone. A new notification slides across the screen. Somebody has made a side-by-side collage. Me onstage at Eclipse, all body glitter and red mouth. Cherry in a cropped clubhouse tank from some old party photo, looking soft and sad and young. Shady between us, cut on, eyes turned away from the camera.
